


Maybe

by pleasurific



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Barebacking, Begging, Fingerfucking, Future Fic, Glory Hole, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masks, Mildly Dubious Consent, Stiles Stilinski's Jeep's Name is Roscoe, Stiles Thinks Too Much, Teasing, The Jungle (Teen Wolf), mention of Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasurific/pseuds/pleasurific
Summary: Stiles has not thought this through completely, coming into Jungle on Mask Night.





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I found a [prompt generator](https://promptgenerator.tumblr.com/kink2) and it spit out "anonymous sex + begging" at me. That is all. 
> 
> _Note:_ There is no verbal consent given at the start, but there's a lot of enthusiastic "yes please" later ;) Also, a little plot snuck in. I don't know why I thought it wouldn't.

Stiles has not thought this through completely, coming into _Jungle_  on Mask Night. Sure, it sounded intriguing and fun, the girls told him it was going to be completely safe and he'd enjoy himself. But what he didn't count on was getting roped into what technically qualifies as a glory hole, only without the usual bathroom environment. 

Part of the night's entertainment -- voluntary and with complete consent of everyone involved, though not an in-person verbal one -- is a room at the back of the club with a bench at just the right height close to a wall with an opening big enough that he can rest his ass right into it. It's where Stiles is now, ass bare and pressed against the cool wall, his hole dripping with lube and twitching, waiting to be filled. But he's not getting that, which is driving him into frustration much faster than he expected to. 

He didn't ask anyone specific, just marched towards the room when the green light was signaling that it's free -- orange means someone's waiting, red means the obvious occupied -- and plopped himself on the bench with barely any hesitation. He heard the door creak only a minute or so later and then there were footsteps across the floor. He couldn't see anything from his position, the room is set up so that it's fully anonymous for the receiving person as much as the giving one. There was the option of giving a blow job too, but Stiles wanted to get fucked tonight.

And it's not happening. 

Instead, he's been thoroughly fingered and lubed up, his hole teased with slow touches and swirls of fingertips along the rim, his prostate massaged until his cock was throbbing and dripping down onto the floor until he almost came just from that. 

But every time he almost came, the person on the other side of the wall stopped. Like they knew. They could probably feel Stiles's body tensing and his breathing getting more ragged as he rushed towards an orgasm. Every time for what now feels like hours, the person withdrew their fingers and left Stiles gaping open, cold, _wanting_. 

Like he was supposed to beg. Which he absolutely, under no circumstances, would _not do_.

" _Please_ ," slips from his lips a moment later when the fingers he's craving rub a circle around his hole again. "Fuck me, _please_."

There's a gruff noise that almost sounds like a chuckle and Stiles feels annoyed a little. The person driving him to the edge seems like they're enjoying it a little too much and Stiles is... finding it hotter than he wants to. He could move and walk away if he really wanted to, but he hopes that this will lead to an orgasm eventually. From edging himself in the past, he knows that the slow teasing will make it worth it. 

"I'm so empty, I want something more in me," he rambles on since his begging finally elicited an audible reaction. "I want you to fuck me or rim me or shove _something_  in me, _please_. Anything." 

He feels the way the fingers twitch against his hole and at this point, Stiles would really be good with just them stretching his hole open. Maybe three, maybe four, maybe as many as his companion would dare side past Stiles's sloppy rim. He'd take the whole fist really, if that was what he was given, just so he'd get his ass filled. 

But then he feels something blunt against his ass, between the fingers that are still expertly playing with his hole and making him tremble in anticipation.

"Yessss, please, give it to me," he lets out, assuming that it must be a cock or at least a dildo that's teasing his hole now, pushing against the rim and then up and down his crack, catching on the edge of his hole. "Please!" 

When he feels the pressure of the cock -- and it's got to be one, nothing else feels quite the same, no matter how good the quality of a toy is -- against the loosened rim, Stiles moans and does his best to open up to the intrusion. His body automatically tenses despite the amount of time that was spent stretching him and loosening his hole so he closes his eyes and focuses on the muscles that are fighting the penetrating cock. Because he _wants it_  and he'll be damned if his natural reaction deprives him of this. 

There's a grunt as the head of the cock pops past Stiles's rim and then a moan when Stiles clenches his ass around it for a moment. After that, it should be easy but apparently he's going to get tortured some more with slow teasing. He can feel the cock slide a little further into him but then it pulls out until it's out again and Stiles's hole is left twitching and clenching at the loss. He whimpers in protest and barely hears the responding chuckle. Whoever it is that's teasing him is most definitely enjoying it. Stiles would be pissed but he's too busy pushing down the pleas that are swirling through his brain.

" _Please_ , fuck me," he says, his voice rough and raspy. 

"Patience," a deep voice comes from behind the wall, muffled and distorted by the barrier between Stiles and the man on the other side. 

"I've _been_  patient," Stiles grunts because whatever time he spent already waiting and wanting to be fucked is fraying at his nerves and leaving him bordeing on desperate. 

"You have," the man says, his tone softer than Stiles would expect in the situation. "Tell me again."

There's no question what it is that he's supposed to say, so Stiles opens his mouth and a barrage of pleas and rambling about what he wants spills out without him having any control over it anymore. He stops when he feels the cockhead against his ass again but then goes back to talking even as the cock slides slowly into him until it can't go any further. 

Once the man has bottomed out and Stiles pushes his ass further back against the wall, it feels perfect. The cock inside him is hitting all the right spots and filling him in a way he hoped it would. He tightens his ass around it and revels in the low moan from behind the wall. 

"Brace yourself," the man tells Stiles in an even, matter-of-fact tone. 

Stiles does just that, wraps his fingers around the legs of the bench he's leaning on and pushes his ass against the wall behind him as much as he can. The rhythm of the cock sliding out and back into him is slow for a few strokes but that pace doesn't last. Soon, he feels the way the man's hips stutter as he pushes deep inside Stiles's ass and groans whenever Stiles tightens his muscles. 

"C'mon," Stiles says, taunting as much as he's pleading, "fuck me properly. Want your cock deep in me, want you to fuck me hard and fast. Make me come just on your dick, _please_." 

The man groans again and drives forward, the tip of his cock siding over Stiles's sensitive prostate. Then he pulls almost all the way out just before his cock pushes into Stiles's hole until it's all the way in. Stiles doesn't dare move, not only afraid to lose his grip and the perfect position at the hole in the wall, but also not really able to do so anyway, not with the dick inside his ass and the unyielding wall cool against his butt cheeks. 

"I'm so close," Stiles announces as waves of arousal roll through his body.

His cock is throbbing where it's hanging between his sweaty thighs, dribbling precome onto the floor with each slide of the cock inside him. He refuses to touch himself because he _knows_  that he can come just from being fucked, unless his partner has no idea what they're doing. Right now, he's in very good hands, or at least pushing himself onto a cock that has a very skilled and determined owner. 

"'m gonna come," Stiles mumbles a few moments later when the guy angles his hips just a little differently and sparks travel from Stiles's prostate right into his cock. 

When he tips over the edge it's with a loud moan and a full body shudder that makes him worry for a split second that he's going to lose his balance and his grip on the bench he's holding. He's still panting as he feels his cock spurting come onto the ground when he feels the man behind the wall moaning loudly and his movements stuttering a little. He can't feel the cock inside him moving as much as he did as his own orgasm was rushing at him at full speed, but it's enough to send sparks of new arousal. 

Stiles wants to sit on that cock for as long as he can but he also wants to be filled with come so he clenches his ass again and starts rambling and pleading, his voice a little shaky as he's still trembling through his orgasm's aftershocks. 

"Come on, fuck me," Stiles says, slowly evening his breath and clearing his mind.

Now that he's come, his mind is focusing a little better and he _wants_. He doesn't make a conscious decision to start talking about what he wants, the words just flow out of him as he backs in his post-orgasmic bliss. 

"You feel so _good_ , your cock is fucking perfect for fucking me. I want to feel you as deep as you can, want you to fill me up with your come," Stiles babbles, hands slowly unclenching from where he was gripping the bench he's leaning on. "My cock's already trying to get hard again, just from the way yours fits inside me. Fuck, you're amazing, I wanna sit on your cock all day every day. Wanna be on my knees for you and feel you come deep inside me. Wanna feel you in me at all times. Fuck, I want to make a mold of your cock and keep it forever."

The man grunts and pushes his hips forward, his cock as deep inside Stiles's hole as it can go. 

"Yess, like that," Stiles whines as his spent cock twitches, unable to start getting hard again yet. "Fuuuu----" 

His words are cut off by a determined and deep stroke of the cock inside him and then he feels the little ripples that course through the body behind him at the same time as he feels warmth painting his insides, the man's cock throbbing against Stiles's walls. 

"Oh fuck, yes," Stiles moans, tightening his ass as much as he can. 

He wants to stay like this, wants to be on the cock for far longer than he knows he'll be able to, wants to keep it to himself. He wasn't lying when he said he'd happily get a mold of the dick so he could use it over and over again. But even as he's thinking about this, he can feel the cock inside him flagging a little. Once it pulls out, Stiles maybe whines a tiny bit and regrets that he didn't bother bringing one of his usual plugs -- like the one he wore in the club on previous occasions -- so he could keep the come in. Not that the reason for that would be to stop it staining his jeans, which he knows is likely to happen the moment he walks out of this room. 

Stiles can hear the sound of a zipper pulling up and a heavy but content sigh a beat later. He's not completely sure what the etiquette is for leaving, but he figures that he's not supposed to before the other person does. So he slowly tries to relax his muscles and make the ones a little too loose behave in ways that muscles should. He thinks he'll only hear the click of the door next, so he's surprised when the man speaks up, only two quiet words in a tone that catches Stiles a little off guard.

"Thank you," the guy says and then there's the expected click of the door and the room is flooded with silence. 

It takes Stiles a moment to get dressed -- he doesn't touch the control panel until he's fully clothed again and no longer feeling his legs wobble every time he tries to stand up. Finally, he hits the right button on the panel to signal that the room is free and slips out of the side door into the same dark corridor that led him there earlier. The anonymity is preserved in many ways in the club, especially for this particular thing, so he's pretty sure that the only thing that could have clued his partner in on who he is would have been Stiles's voice. Still, as he walks around and stops to say hello to some of his friends, he wonders if the man would recognize him at some point by overhearing his voice. 

He can feel the stickiness in his jeans, the squelch as come leaks out of his ass and into his briefs with every step he takes until he's sure that it's all on the fabric. If there were any werewolves in the club, Stiles knows that they could smell how his arousal starts spiking again at the feeling, how just the memory of the cock that fucked him is turning him on. Maybe they couldn't smell the come on him, not with so many other scents saturating the club enough that even _he_  can tell that he's not the only one messy around here. 

Then, just as he stands up at the bar and orders a drink, he catches a flash of a face that's more than familiar. He tries to look over to where he saw it with as much subtlety as he can manage, but it's not there anymore. Turning around from the bartender, Stiles glances around the crowd, frustrated that the flashing lights from the dance floor make it hard to see anything clearly. But then there's another glimpse, this time jet black hair in the sea of other heads standing on the edge of the dance floor, a furrowed brow underneath it with thick dark eyebrows. 

Stiles remembers that Derek's in town, a visit as fleeting as most of them have been over the past year or maybe longer. _Jungle_  is the last place he'd expect Derek to be though, not after what went down here years ago. Not after he probably frequented clubs that were a lot more high profile and a lot less dingy than this small town one. 

Then he thinks that even if it _is_  Derek here, it means nothing and he won't be able to find Stiles unless they directly run into each other. Suddenly way more aware of the come that's soaking his briefs and jeans, Stiles figures that he's better off avoiding that particular awkwardness. His buzz from the fuck is slowly wearing off, his brain steering over to musings about who the man was in the room with him, whose come is sticking to his sweaty skin. It defies the point of the room and the rules but Stiles can't stop himself and instead of the bliss, he starts feeling frustrated. 

He downs his drink, says bye to the girls -- all of whom give him a knowing grin as they notice his slightly uncomfortable walk -- and heads out to Roscoe. The Jeep is parked around the corner, just out of sight of anyone who doesn't _look_  for it. It's easier this way, because Stiles knows that while Deputies like Jordan who know the Jeep all too well can spot it, the new additions to the force -- the ones more likely to report back to the Sheriff -- will not make the connection and he'll avoid an awkward conversation with his dad. The final surprise of the night comes just before Stiles gets into his Jeep.

There, a few car lengths away from Roscoe, hidden a spot not illuminated by street lamps, is a sleek black car that Stiles has seen many time before, one that he's been in a few months ago when Roscoe couldn't hack a long drive to the Ito pack's new home. 

Derek's Camaro. Parked in a place where he definitely had to see Roscoe, in a place close enough to _Jungle_  and far enough from anything else Stiles can think of as a place that Derek could be. 

Stiles sits down and the dampness of his jeans and briefs brings him back into the room where he got fucked earlier, his mind whirring as he tries to remember the man's voice from the only two words he said. It wasn't loud enough and Stiles can't tell, but it's enough that his mind settles on one thing. 

_Maybe_. 

**Author's Note:**

> I occasionally haunt [twitter](https://twitter.com/pleasuri_fic)


End file.
